Note: It's official:I will NEVER EVER be a lawyer. I'm not good at thinking on my feet, and I'm so in over my head here, haha. Writing this took a lot of edits and research, but oh my gosh, guys, it was so fun. I never thought I could write something like this in my wildest dreams, and poof, what do you know? Thanks for the incredible and staggering support—I hope I don't let you down or fudge too much!

PS: The best part of this chapter? Many of the weaknesses Ms. Monett points out were either accidental on my part (ex. the police mistakes) or improvisations to my original idea (ex. Claire's past) as I wrote the story. Isn't it cool that the off-the-cuff stuff fits like that?

Chapter Twenty-two: Devil's Advocate

If she expected anything, immediately Claire felt it all fall short of the strange, surreal sensation of being in a courtroom. Due to the town's general invisibility to the rest of the world, O'Neil had told her straight-out that they'd escaped the attack of reporters and journalists that a high-profile case would normally attract. "Then again, this case is far from the usual," he'd muttered under his breath, and Claire wished that hadn't put a sinking stone in her soul.

So much of courtroom preparation was an act: Claire's clothes were soccer mom chic, when usually she'd either sport her overalls or the professional attire from her days as an architect. Why, every question the prosecution had prepared they'd run by her, telling her what answers were appropriate and which were not, making her wonder if Skye's lawyer did the exact same thing with him. Shyly she glanced to see him besides that mousy attorney of his, and a freshly shaved, clean-cut image greeted her, his melancholy somehow adding to his charm. Heat flushed up the side of his neck as he caught her stare, and she turned about quickly, not daring to admit where her eyes had wandered.

"All rise!"

The judge who'd held Claire at bay from Skye's door entered the courtroom with the air of an empress, her head held high and her fiery eyes dancing as she took her position of power. The Honorable Judge "WP" opened her mouth and, smirking, said, "Ladies. Gentlemen. I see this case has brought more villagers than usual to my courtroom. Let me enlighten you on the etiquette I expect of you: no inappropriate behavior, no outbursts, and no shenanigans. If any of you fail to follow those guidelines, I'll kick you outside. Any electronic devices that go off during testimony are subject to removal. Are we clear?" A wolfish smile. "Then let the prosecution make their opening statement."

Jack O'Neil may have been a first class SOB, but Maria had to admit, the man knew how to work a crowd. It was hard to hate this man and his cocky grin, unless you'd personally seen him outside the courtroom. Unfortunately for her client, this jury had not.

"On the fifth day of Fall, a young mother gives her four-month-old daughter a bubble bath, reads her a fairy tale, and kisses her good-night on her tiny blonde head. She is tired from working all day in the fields outside her house, relieved at her husband's return from work, and with his arms around her, she sleeps expecting to see her child tomorrow morning, safe and sound. She expects to relive this day again, and again, until the child in that cradle is old enough to give herself a bubble bath, choose her own stories, and crawl into her own bed."

He approached the jury, and Maria—despite herself—tried to mentally note how his eyes found the dexterity to gaze at all of its members at once with penetrating stares, daring them to ignore his following words. "Imagine you are this mother waking up on the morning of Fall Six. The cradle holds no child. Your door is open. And there is a note tacked on that door in your ex-boyfriend's handwriting: Fair maiden, I shall steal your heart this very night. You don't know if you'll ever see your child again. You don't know if she's even alive. All you know is that she's not in your arms anymore, and that you'd give anything to let her be."

Skye's hands became fists in his lap, and Maria flinched at the handcuffs' metallic sound.

"The defense will try and tell you this is a trial about feelings. It isn't. This is about one man"—Jack's finger jutted towards the thief, and all the jurors' eyes followed it—"who decided his want for revenge outweighed the safety and well-being of an innocent baby girl. The defense will tell you that this child is the product of a past union between my client, Ms. Claire, and the defense's client, Skye the Phantom Thief. What I am going to tell you is that over half, over three fourths, over four-fifths of kidnapping cases are family abductions, and that being a parent by blood doesn't make a kidnapper any less of a criminal than he is. For two full seasons, Skye the Phantom Thief has lied his way into an innocent village and into the heart of a baby that does not, according to the law, belong to him. We have a court system, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and that is how justice is served in this country, not through promoting one's own brand of justice at whim. You and I are not above the law. After today's trial," Jack O'Neil finished, "you'll agree that neither is Skye the Phantom Thief."

The best part about being a defense attorney was being able to speak last. Maria, calm and cool as you please, smoothed out her skirt and stood, gazing at the court with refined and dignified poise.

"Mr. O'Neil has told you about the facts," she stated. "He has told you that my client is accused of kidnapping Willow: his and Ms. Claire's child from wedlock. He has told you that for two seasons, this child resided in his keeping, away from her mother and her old home. Yet then again, Mr. O'Neil has not told you that the mother he has kept her from those two months is a past victim of child abuse. He has not told you that she kept the birth of this baby girl, Skye's first and only child, a secret from the very man who fathered her and even from the doctor she married. The prosecution accuses my client of being a liar. After today's testimony, you'll see Ms. Claire could be accused of that very same thing."

She smiled sweetly at the jury, giving Skye a look sincere and angelic enough to shock any member of the courtroom into listening. "Mr. O'Neil asked you to imagine being in Ms. Claire's position. So I ask you to imagine, if you will, being in love. Imagine falling for someone so deep that you could never picture leaving their side; imagine expecting trust and receiving a slap in return. You are rejected, and you don't know why. Your lover marries a man you never knew she'd loved before you, and suddenly you are alone, dumbfounded, and confused. You spend months away from the origin of your misery, when you learn something no one bothered to tell you—this very woman who left you has given birth to a baby girl. A girl born nine months since you were last making love under the moon; a girl that no court in the world will share with you, because you are a thief and a man, and both are damning in this courtroom."

Maria let that sink in for a moment. "Mr. O'Neil will repeat the importance of honesty in this case. I will agree with him on that. When you hear of lies Skye the Phantom Thief has spoken, be sure your ears are as carefully tuned to those of the woman who kept secrets regarding abuse, regarding an affair, and regarding the conception of a beautiful baby girl. Perhaps my client should not have lied to this child about her heritage. But ladies and gentlemen, wasn't Ms. Claire already lying about the very same thing?"

The farmer bit her lip at the accusals, and Maria closed her eyes, taking in a deliberate breath for time.

"I dare you to feel, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I ask you not to ask if Skye the Phantom Thief is guilty of kidnapping this baby girl; ask yourselves instead if Skye the Father is guilty of loving his daughter too much to let her be cheated like he had, when his own father walked out on his life and when the woman sitting in the prosecution's chair left him as well." Maria started towards her seat, then turned towards the jury. "Can you blame him, at least, for wanting the chance to love his own child?"

"Can you state your name and occupation for the record?"

Claire leaned towards the microphone and blushed. "Claire. I'm, um, a farmer." She paused, then smiled. "And a mother. I like to think that comes first."

Trent returned her smile warmly from behind Jack O'Neil's ridiculously big head. "Thank you, Ms. Claire," the prosecutor responded. "Would you please tell the jury your current residence?"

"I live in Forget-Me-Not Valley."

"Have you always lived there?"

"Not exactly," Claire murmured; why did she suddenly feel so shy, sitting at the witness stand? "I lived there with my family when I was young, but we moved to the city when I was six. I moved back there almost three years ago."

"How would you describe Forget-Me-Not Valley, Ms. Claire?"

"Safe. Open. Secure."

"A good place to raise a child?"

"A wonderful place," Claire murmured.

"Are you married, Ms. Claire?"

"To Dr. Trent, for about a year and a half now."

"Do you have children?"

"One. Willow."

"How has Willow been these past few months?"

"I wouldn't know. I've only just seen her this week."

"Why is that?"

"He took her from me," she whispered, pointing to Skye and his beautiful eyes. "For the past two seasons, he's had her, and I haven't known a thing."

"Let the record show that the witness had indicated the defendant." Jack O'Neil grinned encouragingly, waiting for the climax to draw the sleepy jury in and hook them tight. "How do you know the defendant, Ms. Claire?"

"He…he and I were romantically involved."

"Sexually?"

"Yes," Claire admitted. "I'm not proud of it, but yes."

"Why would he take your baby Willow?"

"I ended the affair," Claire answered simply. "I didn't like lying to two sides, and I knew what I wanted was trustworthiness, reliability, constancy—things I knew Trent had and that Skye didn't."

"Objection!" Maria's voice called. "Hearsay. The witness is not a psychological analyst."

"Sustained. Ms. Claire, please be more specific," the judge instructed.

The farmer's cheeks blushed red. "Skye was a wandering thief. Trent was a village doctor. I chose the man whose life best reflected mine. Skye didn't like that, and I didn't tell him about me being pregnant, because I didn't want Willow to be part of his sporadic life. I didn't even tell my husband, because I didn't want him to judge her or me. I wanted to raise Willow normally, like any girl should be. But apparently, Skye didn't feel the same way, because he kidnapped her from me." A pause. "He…he wrote a note, even, to spite me for it."

"How did you know it was written by Skye?"

Claire swallowed. "He left me the exact same letter the day I proposed to Trent. Skye had been furious, and he'd threatened to steal my blue feather so that I couldn't marry him." She tried to smile. "Obviously, that didn't work the way he'd planned."

O'Neil basked in the alarm written on the jury's faces: If a man gets that angry once, he can do it again. "What did you do when you discovered Willow was missing?"

"I panicked," Claire answered. "I tore the whole village apart in my search; I denied it, I cried, I screamed, I prayed. The police wouldn't declare her missing until twenty-four hours had passed, but now I know that's a common misconception, one that cost us dearly. We missed her, and I couldn't forgive myself for that."

"And now that you've learned she is safe and have held her in your arms once again?"

Claire held her head high and looked Skye square in the eyes. "I'll never let her go."

"Ms. Claire, you said something interesting in your testimony." Maria paced in front of the witness stand, and commented, "You said every girl deserves to grow up "normally." Would you please define that for the jury?"

"I know what you're getting at, Ms. Monett," Claire spoke softly.

"Answer the question, please."

"I know I grew up in a home that I suppose couldn't be called normal," the farmer retorted. "I experienced firsthand what it's like to watch your mother die, slowly and surely, while your father works himself into a frenzy to forget how powerless he is. I know what it's like to fight to reach impossible expectations, and to be physically and verbally abused when you fall short every time. So yes, I want my daughter to grow up normally, Ms. Monett, because I wish I could have." Claire clenched her teeth, fighting to suppress her temper and her tears because Jack had told her both could kill her credibility. "Two loving parents. A stable home. A friendly village full of friends and kind people. That's how I define normal, if you must know."

"Life has not been easy for you," Maria agreed, lost in thought. She was walking on thin ice; Claire was the victim here, and if Maria bullied her, that'd turn the whole jury against her client. "Would you say you loved your father?"

Dumbfounded, Claire stared at her. "O-of course."

"Even though he hurt you?"

"Well, yes."

"Even though he only yelled at you?"

"He didn't only yell at me," the farmer clarified. "We had good times, like any father and daughter do. I still loved him. I still do love him."

Ms. Monett pursed her lips. "So you're saying, even though you were abused, you believe you had a kind and loving father?"

"My father was a good man. He just…made mistakes sometimes."

"Like Skye the Phantom Thief has?"

A startled gasp choked out of Claire's throat at the noose Maria had just placed around her words. She blinked her stunned blue eyes, and stammered out, "You don't understand. Skye broke the law. He tried to steal a little girl's childhood from her. From me."

"So did your father," Maria challenged. "But you didn't take him to a courtroom, did you?"

"Objection!"

"It's easy for you to say, Ms. Monett," Claire bit back, O'Neil still standing with his face red as blood. "But turning in my father would protect me, and in my case, I had a voice in how I wanted to be raised. Yet if you look at my baby daughter, you'll see she has no voice of her own at all."

O'Neil, surprised and certainly pleased at his client's response, sat right back down.

"So if someday, your daughter wants to meet Skye the Phantom Thief?"

"That'll be her decision."

Maria bit her lip; this would need another direction. "And you are the better role model, in your eyes, than my client?"

"Yes."

"Because he steals?"

"Yes."

"And because he lies?"

Claire treaded carefully here, an unseen maze of defense versus prosecution lit before both their eyes. "Everyone lies. That's not a fair assessment of a parent."

"Then what is, Ms. Claire?"

"Being a liar," the blonde spoke slowly, "who knows when it's time to finally tell the truth. And when to apologize."

"When the police came at your door, Ms. Claire, would it be fair to say that was a good time to tell the police of your past affair with Skye?"

She closed her eyes, shuddering. "Yes."

"Yet you didn't. When you married Dr. Trent, would it be fair to say you should have told him you carried Skye the Phantom Thief's child in your womb?"

"You don't understand, I wasn't going to—" Oh shit. Claire caught herself in time, but Maria had picked up on her change in tune, and the lawyer hunted after it hungrily.

"You weren't going to do what? Tell him?"

"W-well—"

"So you're saying, basically, that you want Willow to grow up with a role model who lies when it protects herself, not when it's in the best interest of her husband and child?"

"I never said that. I only said," she protested futilely, "that I wasn't…going to have to." Each syllable became a broken road; every word slipped from her tongue with the softest intonations.

"And what does that mean, Ms. Claire?"

That I almost aborted the most beautiful thing in my life, long before I took her for granted. That I put my marriage on the line when I chose to keep her, so that I could always see her smile.

"It means," Claire announced, "that sometimes, you do what it takes to protect your baby girl. Even if it hurts you in the long run."

"Funny," Maria commented. "Isn't that exactly what Skye the Phantom Thief did?"

It killed Gwen, not knowing what on Earth was going on in that room. Sequestered with the other witnesses, she'd tried to distract herself by listing recipes in her head: curry, vegetable stew, strawberry parfait, sugar cookies. Her heartbeat went on overdrive, kicking in with terror that only comes from the unknown.

What if I mess up?

Chicken pot pie, manicotti, fried fish. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut and played with the obnoxious film of her long skirt and the oppressive collar of her blouse; Ms. Monett had told her to look professional, believable. But that's not me in the mirror. That's only what the jury wants to see.

Across from her, the new nurse—Gina Aires, wasn't it?—knitted a second scarf, the first having been finished for hours now, and beside her far off in the corner, Detective Stone crossed and uncrossed her legs, sighing. All of them jumped, startled, as the doors opened to reveal the bailiff, Bob.

"Detective Stone?"

A wave of relief washed over Gwen's frantic expression, while the bomb she'd have to detonate kept ticking all the while.

"Would you state your name and occupation for the jury?"

"Naminè Stone. Private investigator."

The redhead prided herself on remaining cool and collected on the stand. She had no alliance to either side anymore; despite her initial ties to the prosecution, Nami honestly didn't care how her words were interpreted. Both sides had good points.

And both sides, as far as she was concerned, were officially insane.

"How did you happen to work on this case?"

"Forget-Me-Not isn't known for its prestigious legal system," she answered. "The authorities in Mineral Town were called, and when they, too, found themselves in over their head, I was hired. Dr. Trent and Ms. Claire wanted to report their daughter being kidnapped; I had to come in and see if they had the means to get an affidavit written in order to obtain an arrest warrant for Skye the Phantom Thief."

"And did you have those means?" O'Neil asked.

"Not at first. The boot print found was inconclusive, with no previous prints of Skye's to match with it, and the note he'd left was unsigned. To top things off, he had no motive." The detective shrugged. "I had to work my way to getting the evidence I needed, shaky as it was."

"Yet you did gain the necessary information?"

"Yes," Nami conceded. "But only once I pressured Ms. Claire into confessing her past with the defendant. If she hadn't told me that, and if I didn't have his past history of petty theft to tie with it, I'd have had nothing short of hearsay to report."

"How did Willow's parents react after their daughter's disappearance?"

"As any parent would have. Distraught. Confused Angry. I've seen many victims of crimes, Mr. O'Neil, and these two fit the bill nicely."

"What did you do to find Willow?"

"Of course people were actively looking for her; I wasn't in charge of that aspect of the search as much," Nami explained. "My work was more technical, finding out the motives, the background, the nuts and bolts of the case. Needless to say, with Skye's lifestyle, the case got cold more often than hot."

"In what state did you find the defendant upon discovering his whereabouts?"

"Residing as a waiter at an Inn in a remote town, with an alias and baby Willow in his care." The detective let her gaze slant towards Skye at his seat, and she added, "We have numerous witnesses that can testify to his staying in Flowerbud with the girl for these past two seasons."

"What does kidnapping mean, Detective Stone?"

"Taking anyone, without their consent, by force."

"Would taking a child without proper custody, without alerting the parents who had custody of that child, and deciding to raise her under a new identity chosen by the abductor, correspond with that definition?"

"When put like that," Nami Stone answered, "yes."

"Before you arrived at Forget-Me-Not, you received a report from the local police force."

"Yes."

Maria Monett held the paper in her hands, tapping a corner of it with her nail. "Can you read me this highlighted section here?"

"After twenty-four hours, the child had been officially declared missing." Nami groaned. "That's incorrect."

"How so?"

"A child can be announced missing before twenty-four hours have passed, if there's probable cause."

"In this case, would you say there was?"

She hesitated. "The note left behind leads me to think so."

"So the police before you made a mistake?"

"The man in charge was an amateur," Nami explained.

"But you're not?"

"I have been working at my job for seven years now."

"So you wouldn't make a mistake of that proportion, would you?"

Something about Ms. Monett's tone made Nami go still inside. "I'd say not."

"Can you tell the jury what occurred during Thanksgiving this Winter in regards to your career?"

Nami could feel a thousand eyes boring into her back. "I was fired," she replied softly.

"Had you performed any misconduct?"

"No, nothing of the sort. The force found me dispensable, with the case cold and the evidence old." She hesitated. "Private investigators are only kept around as long as they're useful. I had nothing new to offer at the time, so they made an economic decision to no longer hire me."

"Were you still working on Skye the Phantom Thief's case when you invoked his arrest warrant?"

Oh, Ms. Monett was a clever little devil, wasn't she? Nami averted her eyes. "No, I can't say that I was."

"How did you handle the arrest, Detective Stone?"

"I brought out my gun and told the girl at the Inn to call the police."

"You pulled out your gun." The attorney shook her head, feigning shock. "Had Skye done anything to resist your arrest?"

"No."

"Had he acted violent in any way?"

"No."

"Had you even seen Willow's face when you pulled out your gun?"

"I…hadn't," Nami admitted. Shame blossomed on her cheeks, and Nami kept her mouth in a perpetual line, gnashing her teeth to keep from shouting.

"Let me get this straight. Upon seeing a suspect—one whom may very well have been an innocent man—you pulled out your gun, you pointed it at his heart, arrested him, and then you asked for the police to intervene, am I correct?"

"Yes," Nami whispered.

"Without proper authority?"

"That would be correct, I suppose."

"I have a statement I'd also like to read to you, Detective Stone—you are reported as having said, upon seeing Skye, 'There's plenty of ways to wound a man without killing him. You should know; taking a child is one of them.' Hm." Maria raised her eyebrows. "That sounds awfully like declaring someone guilty before being proved so, doesn't it?"

"I understand your point, Ms. Monett. I'm sure the jury does as well," the witness retorted tightly.

"Only one more question, Detective Stone." The redhead rolled her eyes, but Maria asked anyway, "Is it fair to say that before the evidence, before the trial, our impartial justice system treated Skye like a criminal from the start?"

"You forget, Ms. Monett," Nami replied. "Even before Willow? He was one."

Skye couldn't keep his eyes off the jury. Maybe it was because they couldn't take their eyes off him: this kidnapper, this thief, this stealer of hearts. Maria had told him they'd been called from a nearby village on the sea, impartial and unrelated to any of the issues at hand. One member, a stoic and gray-haired man with muscles Skye would kill for, kept throwing him dirty looks, while the dark-haired maiden by his side adjusted her glasses and occasionally dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

What they must think of me. They must consider me a monster.

It couldn't happen, in this flawed and imperfect world, but Skye wanted to walk over and talk to lovely blonde juror #3 and tell her how he'd rock Willow to sleep on cold winter nights. He wanted to sit down beside the nun and the red-haired ranch fellow and explain how frightened he was to learn he'd never get to raise his child. He wanted to show the curly-haired drifter how his heart had been mended new by Gwen and his baby girl. He wanted to tell them how he'd go back and do it all over again, because he loved Willow, and the woman he'd met because of her, enough to ruin his next twelve lifetimes.

He wanted them to listen. Not to judge by his face.

"It could be going worse, but we're holding our heads up, I think." Maria wrung her hands in her lap, using a hand-lotion that claimed to "relax" any and all tense muscles. After all the intense verbal sparring his lawyer had done, Skye hoped that label wasn't kidding. "The case could go either way, really, so we have to just prove that our way is better." She sighed. "Unfortunately, this is a more "guilt the jury" scenario than a "plant doubt in the act" one. There's too much proof that you kidnapped her."

"Well." Skye shrugged. "Technically, I did."

"Future reference: never tell a defense attorney whether you're guilty or not. We represent you anyway." Still, Maria smiled. "You want to know something?"

"What?"

"I don't think you're the liar they make you out to be."

More than a little taken-aback, Skye found himself smiling as well. "Miss Monett!" he exclaimed. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Give me a little credit, Skye," she laughed. "I'm far too professional to do such a thing. But not too professional to tell you that I think you never meant any harm to come to this girl, nor any to the mother you took her from." A pause. "I think…you really do love her."

"I appreciate that. It means a lot, to me."

"Believe me, any time a defense attorney admits to believing your story, the Apocalypse is on its way." Maria chuckled. "But you really ought to get yourself some water, you look…" She hesitated. "Stressed."

"But I haven't done anything yet."

Maria chewed her lip. "Listening to this could stress anyone, Skye. Sitting in this chair alone adds years to your age."

"Lucky I'm young." Skye fingered the edge of the silky tie wrapped tight round his neck. "Maria, I think I…"

Alarm flickered in the lawyer's eyes. "What?"

"…I want to testify."

The reply was immediate: "Absolutely not."

"I want them to know what really happened," Skye insisted, his voice rising. "I want them to hear from the villain himself about the crime. If they put me in prison, I want them to remember every word I say—I want them to remember that every time they pass a father on the street, or the jail on the side of the road, or the baby sleeping in her carriage. If I don't do this," he pleaded, "I'll never sleep easy behind prison walls."

"And that's where you'll wind up if O'Neil gets his hands on you during the cross-examination." Maria sighed. "Skye, prison walls aren't meant for sleeping. They're meant for killing, slowly and painfully."

"That's—!"

"I don't mean physically, Skye. I mean your spirit. Your soul. That's what breaks."

He stared at the ground for a moment, then a grin broke out across his face, that roguish charm once again lighting his eyes with grief. "Well. Then I already have nothing to lose."